Guardian (19 page)

 

Chapter Thirty

K
itra's team found the van. As they approached it, a great bolt of lightning flashed directly overhead and thunder boomed. The sudden intensity and proximity of bright light overwhelmed the night vision goggles and blinded the men.

Kitra knelt and removed the goggles and rubbed her eyes. “Everyone all right?”

They muttered affirmatives. Kitra blinked and looked at the side of the white van. Her vision adjusted and she started to make out the edges around the front fender. Little by little she regained her natural night vision.

She could see the whole van now. She noticed a Range Rover further away when another flash of lightning illuminated the road. She held her left hand against her brow to shield her eyes from the unyielding rain as she panned around to survey the rest of the road around the vehicles.

She pulled the GPS from her pocket. “He is not far.”

“Up the road?” Ehud said.

“No.” Kitra took a few steps. “Perpendicular to it.”

“How?” Simon said. “This is the only road.”

Kitra looked at the area around them as lightning flashed again, followed by thunder. From their position the mountain went up and down. From the GPS, it appeared they went up.

“Look for a trail,” Kitra said. “On the side of the road. See if there is a trail leading up the mountain.”

Several minutes passed as they swept red-­lens-­tactical lights back and forth. Abu stood behind Kitra, silent. Kitra decided that if they did not find a trail in the next few seconds, she would head up the mountain and carve her own trail along the way.

“Director, I have found a trail,” Simon said.

Kitra, Abu, Ehud, and Isaac moved toward Simon. The trail led off the road and twisted up the face of the mountain. Kitra could not tell how high it went but figured it had to be at least a ten to twenty minute hike. With the amount of rain and mud flowing down the hill, maybe even longer. How much time did they have? How long before Nassir succeeded in his insane mission?

“We need to move now,” she said. “Ehud, take point. Three meter spacing. No sound.”

N
assir continued to shout in the unfamiliar language. Mike noticed that none of his men seemed to understand what the hell he was saying, either. They all gaped at Nassir, then the mist, and then Nassir again. Looks of confusion and fear and indecision resided in their faces.

“Malthus!” Nassir yelled, and then said something in the other language.

Mike looked around him for a moment. He could sprint for the trail and head down the mountain while everyone was distracted. If he didn't trip and break his neck, he might make it to the bottom alive. With his hands still tied behind his back and hardly any illumination other than lightning, he didn't like his chances.

But what other choice did he have? Dying might be his best option right now.

So let's get moving.

He rolled to the side, slid his legs up to his waist and then rolled the opposite way up onto his knees, sinking about an inch into the mud. Taking one deep breath, he rocked back and pushed up to his feet but made sure to stay in as low a crouching position as possible. The whole movement took a ­couple of seconds. But it drained what little energy he had left. The headache still hammered away at his brain. His stomach still flipped and flopped. Add a bit of vertigo in there, and he was surprised he hadn't passed out.

Stop thinking and run,
he thought.

Right.

Nassir still yelled his crazy taunts at the sky. His men still gawked.

Time to go. Now.

Mike located the trail about ten feet away in one of the many flashes of lightning. He flexed his knees and prepared to bolt.

Near him a shadow on the ground moved under another flash of lightning. Then it rose and expanded. It swirled. The cloud. The black cloud had come again.

“Malthus,” Nassir said, and pointed at Mike. “Take him to safety.”

The cloud surged toward Mike and wrapped around him in a blur of swirling vapor before he could blink. Inside, the flies and locusts once again began to bite at his flesh. Instead of panicking, he closed his eyes and thought about what Uriel had told him. It hurt the demon to be so close to a human. But he hurt the demon even more because of the mark.

The mark is not a curse. My presence inflicts pain upon you. My existence envelops you, you do not envelop me.

He opened his eyes. The cloud no longer completely surrounded him. It still wrapped around him but only from his chest down. And the insects had stopped biting.

The mark is not a curse. It is a gift. And with it I repulse you.

The cloud separated from him completely. It floated before him.

“Your name is Malthus,” Mike said. “I have your name. And I command you to leave my presence.”

The cloud shrank but did not disappear. It was about the size of a small boulder now.

Mike couldn't think of what to say next. The other words had come to him in gushing streams. He didn't know from where but they'd felt right. And had worked so far. But now what?

See if you can kill the motherfucker. Why not?

“I strip you of what little spirit you have, Malthus.” Mike stepped toward the cloud. “I separate you from the Firmament and cast you into the outer darkness.”

“No!” Nassir sprinted toward Mike.

Mike stayed focused on the cloud. “I CUT YOU OFF FROM THIS EXISTENCE!”

The cloud shrank to the size of a pebble. Mike blinked and it was gone.

Holy shit,
he thought as Nassir hit him at full speed and knocked him down into a flowing river of mud.

“You are dead, Caldwell.”

The mist flexed.

Mike froze. So did Nassir, standing above him.

It was the only way he could describe it. The mist flexed. Or vibrated. Like a rubber band. Or a tuning fork. As it did, the white shimmered. He'd never seen anything like it.

Then the rain stopped. The wind ceased; it didn't die down. It was like someone flipped a switch and the storm was shut off.

Nassir moved back to the middle of the clearing. Mike took the opportunity to rise, watching the mist, wondering what was about to happen.

Before he could further question what he was seeing, the mist shuddered like a string on a guitar. What sounded like a loud horn being blown rose from the white vapor. The ground shook and the trees swayed. Vibrations spread up his legs into his guts. He dropped back down to one knee to keep from falling over.

Nassir yelled something else in the strange language. His men crawled out of the hole and started heading toward the trail. Mike watched, almost hypnotized.

The horn faded. The ground stood still.

Then the mist swirled. It swirled and shrank into a spinning ball of white, similar to what the black cloud had done. It grew smaller and smaller until it was no more than the size of a basketball floating about four feet above the ground.

Nassir faced the spinning ball of vapor, hands at his sides. He sucked heavy and ragged breaths, like a prizefighter after a ­couple of rounds with the champ. His men crept toward the trail.

The mist flattened into a tubular shape like a serpent and flew toward the escaping men. It twisted around them, snaking between their legs and around their waists.

“It burns!” Garlic Breath yelled.

The other men screamed as the mist increased its speed. It moved so fast Mike couldn't tell where the head began and tail ended. It reminded him of a Möbius strip.

Garlic Breath burst into flames. The others soon followed. They stood there, screaming and burning alive. A ­couple of the men tried to run, but the mist held them in place. Soon they were on their knees, flailing, trying to swipe the fire from their heads and faces. Within seconds they were sprawled on the ground, dead, nothing but charred corpses.

The mist slowed and returned to face Nassir. It retook the shape of the small spinning ball. Mike stared at the standoff, or whatever it was, stunned, unable to move.

What the fuck?
he thought, watching the supernatural mist and Nassir.

Nassir said something in the strange language.

“He is not yours to use,” a voice said in English.

It took Mike a moment to realize it came from the mist. Then the spinning ball expanded and morphed into the shape of a human. The man had long hair and wore khaki pants and a flannel shirt.

Uriel.

K
itra and his team were advancing up the trail, probably halfway up, when the storm died. A few minutes later they saw fire erupt at the summit.

“Double time,” Kitra said.

They increased their rate of ascent, slogging through the mud as fast as they could. It was easier now that the rain had stopped and the gushing river streaming down the mountain along with it. But the soggy earth still sucked at their boots and slid under the soles, forcing them to grab handholds here and there.

Screams from the top echoed down the trail. Kitra took a quick glance up. The fire was not burning as bright now. She wondered if Mike was all right. And she prayed Nassir had not succeeded.

We will find out soon enough,
she thought.

N
assir spoke in the strange language. For a moment Mike thought he had actually passed out and this was all another dream. But the other dreams had an unworldly feel to them. Almost real but slightly off. This didn't. Kneeling in the mud and sucking air and watching Nassir face down Uriel, Mike knew no matter how fucking crazy it was, it was real.

Uriel seemed to listen, letting Nassir finish before shaking his head and saying, “It is not your time, Watcher.”

“Do not refer to me with that term!” Nassir said in English.

“You are what you are.”

“Says the mighty Uriel.” Nassir took a step toward him. “Come down off your mountain and let us see how truly mighty you are. Once you are separated from the Firmament, perhaps you will even sympathize with us.”

Uriel smirked. “Still the same argument. You are separate by your own choosing.”

“You know that is not true.”

“The humble see God, not the prideful. Will your kind ever learn?”

“Do not lump us in with the Fallen. They have not been cut off like we have.”

“The Fallen were disloyal. You, Tur, and the others, were usurpers.”

“We did not rebel!”

“No, you didn't.” Uriel took a step closer. “You disregarded. You cast off God and made yourselves gods. So God cut you off and imprisoned you in those you sought to rule.”

Nassir stepped back. “We are Agents of Prophecy, Uriel. You know this.”

“Prophecy but not history.”

Nassir's eyes narrowed. “You will not interfere. It is written.”

“I already have.” Uriel shook his head. “You have forgotten, in your desperate attempts, that this is not allowed..”

Nassir pointed at Mike. “He is human!”

Uriel pointed at the tall tree that grew atop the angelic prison. “And Belial is not. Only natural means are permitted, Watcher. You are corporeal. You are not allowed this path.”

“And Semyaza? He was freed.”

“Semyaza had nothing to do with you. The other prisons will remain unspoiled.”

“Uriel—­”

“Unspoiled.”

The way Uriel said it the second time caused Mike to shiver. There was something in the cadence of speech, even though spoken evenly, that carried great weight. Clearly, Nassir sensed it, too, and took several steps backward.

“The time is coming, Uriel. You know this,” Nassir said. “You can no longer ignore us. Your blindness will be lifted. You will see us. This is the beginning.”

“Yes, but not tonight and not this way.” Uriel motioned to Mike with the swipe of his hand. “And he is no longer part of your plans.”

Nassir looked at Mike, gritting his teeth. “You are lucky you have a powerful guardian angel watching out for you.”

“He is a mark bearer. You have seen his power. You know he is as much a threat to you as you are to him.”

“Mark bearers can die, Uriel. Do not forget Solomon.”

“Leave,” Uriel said.

Nassir shifted his attention back to Uriel and said something in the strange language.

Uriel nodded and said, “Be seeing you, too.”

Nassir walked out of the clearing on the opposite side, away from the trail, and disappeared into the night.

“You can't let him go,” Mike said.

Uriel turned to him and smiled. “It is not up to me. Remember, he has a part to play.”

Mike frowned. “Don't tell me you're just following orders.”

“Okay.”

Shit,
Mike thought. “Thanks for coming, by the way.”

“I told you it was out of your hands.”

“You also said you would resolve it.”

“Which I just did.”

“Why wait until the last minute?”

“Nassir is a very small part in a large universe. But in my defense, the rule does not apply until he actually brought you up here. I couldn't act until he started digging. Intent does not equal action. Once he violated the rules, I stepped in.”

“Fucking rules, huh? So you were a fail-­safe. If I couldn't get out of this before they got me up here, you had to act.”

Uriel smirked. “You don't have to keep your hands behind your back anymore.”

Mike moved his wrists and found nothing bound them. He moved them in front. The Flex-­Cuffs were gone.

“Thanks.”

Uriel walked over and squatted in front of him. “So, is it safe to say you have a few more questions?”

 

Chapter Thirty-­One

“Y
ou're fucking A right I have a few more questions,” Mike said, almost exploding.

“Please, don't avoid expressing yourself on my part.”

“What is Nassir?”

“A former angel. A member of an order called the Grigori.”

“And these Grigori fucked up a long time ago.”

“Yes.”

“What'd they do?”

“It's a long story and time is short. However, there are others who will help you understand soon enough.”

“And the demon, Malthus. Nassir summoned it.”

“Summoned is the wrong word. Malthus is part of a race called the Nephilim. Their relationship with the Grigori is . . . complex. Again, others will help you understand. What you need to know now is Malthus helped Nassir. Nassir has no power over the Nephilim and vice versa. But their current incarnations are very much related.”

“The more I learn the more I get confused.”

“So let's keep it simple for now.”

“What the hell is the mark?”

“I don't understand what you mean.”

“I just killed a fucking demon. How is that possible?”

“Semyaza imparted a piece of him on you. What was him is now you. Do you understand?”

“But he was a fallen angel.”

“Remember, there was some good in him still. The light of God had not been completely extinguished. More than anything, he desired to be judged by God. When he repented, that little bit of goodness still in him marked you.”

Mike's eyes widened. “So I have angelic powers?”

Uriel laughed.

“What's so funny?”

“Man is composed of earth and spirit. An angel is a pure spirit. In reality, you just have more spirit. A closer connection to the Firmament than most. But yes, you have some angelic power.”

“My spirit's on steroids, huh?”

“If you want to think of it that way, go ahead. But Tur—­”

“Who?”

“Nassir. His real name is actually Turiel. He spoke the truth when he said a mark bearer can be killed.”

“Yeah, he mentioned Solomon. As in King Solomon?”

“Yes. Solomon also had the power to bind demons.”

“Bind? Not destroy?”

Uriel grimaced. “Yes. Which brings me back to you.”

Mike suddenly felt ill. “Tell me something good.”

“The good thing is you are alive and you have witnessed the scope of your power.”

“I sense a ‘but' coming.”

“But you did not destroy Malthus.”

“I cut it off.”

“Cutting off is not destroying. Turiel still exists but is cut off. Only God can unmake what He has made. Nor did you cut it off. You don't have that kind of power.”

“I still don't get it.”

“You casted him out of this existence, changed his being, but he became another.”

“What did Solomon do?”

“He imprisoned them before he lost control of them.”

“Imprisoned them?”

“He bound them to an object, rendering them inert. It was called the Seal of Solomon. A ring filled with demons.”

“So I didn't destroy him and I didn't bind him and I didn't send him to another dimension.”

“No.”

“So where is he?”

Uriel hesitated. “Those who are casted are bound because, if not, they will bind themselves.”

“What?”

“Think of a man who goes suddenly blind while walking down a staircase. He will grasp onto the rail near him and hold on because that thing is real and nothing else makes sense. He's afraid because he can no longer see. But the rail provides a connection to what he used to know before darkness took over.”

Mike's stomach rolled over.

“Solomon bound his demons to his ring. But you did not bind Malthus. And the closest thing to him when you changed his being was—­”

“Me.”

“Yes.”

Mike wanted to throw up but had nothing in him left to vomit.

“There is a great darkness in you now, Michael. The only reason you have not and will not succumb to it is because the mark keeps it at bay.”

“The mark is not a curse.”

“Now do you see? The mark has given you power and will protect you from darkness. But the darkness will still rage within. It will show you things, tempt you, cause you to do things you will regret. As you must control the power of the mark, you must now also control the power of darkness within.”

Mike closed his eyes. “I have angelic and demonic powers now.”

“But you are also a man and free to use either. You must be careful.”

To say the least,
Mike thought, and sighed. “Fine. Enough about me. What language was Nassir speaking?”

“The same as the language tattooed on the bodies of the guardians you have encountered.”

“Which is the same one carved into the walls of Semyaza's prison.”

“Yes.”

“So, it's some form of Angelic, for lack of a better word?”

“We refer to it as the Ancient Tongue or the First Language, but Angelic works.”

Fuck.
Mike looked at the spot he had last seen Nassir before he walked into the darkness.

“You called Nassir a Watcher. What does that mean?”

“Another word for Grigori.” Uriel rose. “Your friends are coming.”

Mike pushed up to his feet. “What did he mean by ‘Agents of Prophecy'?”

“You will learn soon.”

“What is Nassir planning to do?”

“The same thing he has been planning for a very long time.” Uriel turned away. “I must go, Mike. Remember our earlier conversations. Remember what you saw here tonight. Remember I am only privy to certain things. The rest you will have to deduce on your own. Nassir doesn't serve any nation's interests. He is only looking out for himself and his kind.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Did he want to cripple Israel or provoke a response?”

“Provoke.”

“So start there. You have enough information for now.”

“But—­”

Uriel disappeared.

“Fuck!”

Mike punched his thigh and walked around the clearing. As he neared the tree, the headache spiked and he quickly backed away.

Still marked. Great.

He heard footsteps behind him, turned and reflexively went to draw his Beretta. He grabbed air and remembered he didn't have shit. Several heads crested the top of the rise, coming up the trail. He recognized Ehud. Isaac and Simon followed. Then Abu.

Abu?

Kitra brought up the rear.

Ehud and Isaac inspected the burnt bodies. Simon moved to the other side and checked out the partially dug hole. Abu and Kitra approached Mike and then stood next to him.

“What the hell happened up here?” Kitra asked.

Mike looked at the bodies and the hole and then the spot where Nassir had walked off into the night. Then he gazed up at the sky. It was clear. A bright sliver of moon shined down on them. No sign of the storm at all.

“Are you all right?” Kitra asked.

Mike nodded.

“So what happened?”

Mike lowered his eyes to Kitra. “You wouldn't believe me if I told you.”

“Is it safe?”

“Yeah, it's safe. For now.”

“We will have to put some sort of security measures up here.”

“You won't have to worry about Nassir coming here again anytime soon.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nassir failed,” Mike said. “He won't try this route again. Trust me.”

“And how do you know that?”

“He was here.”

Kitra's eyes widened. “He was here? Personally?”

“Yes,” Mike said.

“Where is he now?” Kitra pointed at the burn victims. “One of them?”

“I wish.” Mike motioned to the side of the clearing. “He took off that way.”

“On foot?”

“Yes, Kitra, on foot. He walked off into the night.”

Kitra stared at him for a moment and then called out, “Ehud, Simon.”

The two hustled over to their boss. “Yes, Director.”

Kitra ordered them to start moving down the mountain where Nassir left and find the Syrian. They didn't hesitate, taking off in pursuit. Kitra then called the helicopters in for added search capabilities.

“We will find him,” she said once she had all the pieces moving.

“I hope so,” Mike said, even though he knew Kitra wouldn't. Nassir was gone, on his way back to Damascus. Back to his plans to set the region on fire.

“Is this where the prison is located?” Abu asked, looking down in the hole on the other side of the clearing.

Mike studied him for a moment, wondering if it was true that the guardians sought only to protect the vessels from being opened. Then he remembered Uriel's words: the other prisons would remain unspoiled. It couldn't hurt to tell him. Not with something like Uriel keeping an eye out.

“Yes,” Mike said. “It's the prison of Belial.”

“Belial,” Abu said, almost whispering. “The rumors were true.”

“What rumors?”

Abu turned and walked back to them. “The order had knowledge, passed down for generations, the prison of Belial lay in the mountains of Galilee. Just not a specific location. We searched, of course, but never found anything more.”

“Well, now you know.”

“And we will guard it with our lives.”

Kitra cleared her throat. “Easy now, Abu. This is still Israeli soil.”

“Kitra, you have my word: my order will protect this place for as long as God allows. Whether you like it or not does not matter.”

Kitra chewed on that for a few seconds. “Arrangements would have to be made. Contacts established. A lie to sell my ­people.”

Abu smirked. “Of course.”

Kitra nodded and then turned to Mike. “Now will you tell me who set those ­people on fire?”

Mike thought about it for a moment, wondering how he could explain the mist and the fire and Uriel. How had he explained any of it so far? Then he laughed.

“My guardian angel did it.”